


Black Tide, Red Tide

by RecklessGhostflower



Category: Mass Effect
Genre: F/F, F/M, Multi
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-12-14
Updated: 2016-12-28
Packaged: 2018-09-08 12:41:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,970
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8845522
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RecklessGhostflower/pseuds/RecklessGhostflower
Summary: It's been 20 years since the end of the Reaper War, and new threats and challenges face the rebuilding Alliance. In order to fight some of those threats, the Alliance forms the Crimson Guard. A group of people that can move fast, hit hard, and buy the Alliance more time so that the rebuilding process can continue unimpeded.But the Black Tide isn't going to allow that happen. Not without a fight.





	1. Anxiety

**I.**

 

_Captain’s Log, 23 July 2201_

 

_We left Home Base yesterday in pursuit of a new lead. There was always a certain strangeness to leaving on a new assignment._

_Step one: Receive information from the Shadow Broker and the Council_

_Step two: Coordinate and chart a likely plan of action and four contingencies_

_Step three: Leave_

_Step four: Await the next instruction_

_It felt strange because it was too familiar. Because eighteen years ago, I was doing this as Shepard’s second-in-command. Now I have my own command. My ship, the_ Houston _. My crew: A mix of veterans of the Reaper War and several who don’t remember a London engulfed in horror. Spacers and Earthborn men and women, Krogan and Turians and a lone Quarian making his pilgrimage in space rather than continue making Rannoch inhabitable again._

_I know that if we play the numbers game, I am going to be responsible for the deaths of one of them._

_I had always rationalized death. I guess that was one of the perks for working for a terrorist organization. The others were the benefits and stock options afforded that even now the Citadel Council won’t allow the Crimson Guard to match. I digress._

_Death rationalizing._

_I had seen and caused my own fair share of death. So had the organizations I worked for. Cerberus. The Alliance. It was always sanitized in three letters: ACR. Acceptable Casualty Rate. What was the ACR for this operation? What was the ACR for this other one?_

_When Liara brought me out of retirement, I asked her the same questions. If she was so insistent I get my own command, she should have an answer. And she did._

_“Zero,” she had said. “And every number above it will weigh heavily on your soul. And you will never forget their names.”_

_She confided that Shepard carried that weight with her, and would say those names when she slept. How she would stop once, whenever she headed to bed, and whenever she woke up, in front of the Memorial Wall aboard the Normandy and trace the names with her finger._

_Liara then showed me her own memorial wall that she had built in her new Broker facility. The agents killed in the line of duty. Liara told me that I was one of few people left in the galaxy she could trust with the endeavor. Not coincidentally, she added with a smirk, the other individuals were also former Lazarus Cell members._

_She convinced me that it was the right thing to do._

_I accepted, and a week later, once all the security clearances had been granted and the necessary diplomatic bullshit had been dealt with, I met with her again to discuss personnel._

_She handed me a data pad containing a list of names. One name stood out above the rest._

_I remember looking up and asking her if she was serious._

_She told me:_

_“Isn’t she---”_

_“Too young? Yeah. But she was clever enough to get assigned to a Guard detail without my knowledge. She could do better in her biotic work but her aim’s perfectly serviceable. She’s studious. Headstrong. Can be a pain in the ass when she wants to.”_

_“Like her mothers.”_

_Liara smiled._

_“I can’t control her, and I don’t want to, either. I can only push her in the right direction and hope she makes the right decisions. And if she wants to join the Guard, she can join the Guard, and I’d rather her serve with you than with anyone else.”_

_“I’m not going to give her preferential treatment on account of me serving under her mother.”_

_“I don’t expect or want you to.”_

_“What about the rest of the names? Can I make my own suggestions?”_

_“Absolutely. Not every name there will make the final cut. And that’s why we’re spending as long as we can vetting these individuals.”_

_“You’re giving an ex-Cerberus operative access to Shadow Broker intel.”_ _  
“That’s not who you are anymore. You are Commander Miranda Lawson of the_ Houston. _And you’re going to make this work._

_Three missions in....I still dread. But I can’t show that to my team._

_ML_

 

EEP! EEP! EEP!

The alarm ran in shrill three-second bursts throughout the specialist quarters of the ship. It was the ‘New Order’ alert; or, as it was affectionately known throughout Red Team as the “Get your shit to the conference room or the Commander would skin you’ alarm. Agent Domino looked up from the Kepesh-Yaksi game he was playing with Agent Lancelot.

“Draw?”

“Nice try, youngblood,” Lancelot said, and made one last sortie. He won, sending a terrible shock that sent Domino sprawling backwards off the upturned bucket he was using as a makeshift seat.

“That’s what, 8-0?”

“8-1, you son of a Batarian whore.”

“Close enough, let’s go.”

“Little help? My arm’s numb.”

“Lazy,” Lancelot said as he stood up and stretched out his hand to the younger man, who took it and felt himself be lifted off.

Domino followed the once-gangster out the Red Team on-board barracks. They weren’t the last to leave, apparently, as Specialist Williams from Blue Team stepped out of the head and met up with them.

“I have enough trouble shitting as it is,” he said with a sour look. “And the second I sit down to take a shit, this comes up? It better be good or I’m going to use the XO’s office to relieve myself.” 

The three entered the conference room, a standard part of _Normandy-_ class warships now and saw a full house. From Red Team, Agent Redwing, a veteran of the Defense of Palaven. Next to him sat the Asari Agent Zero, one of the couple of Terran graduates of the reformed Grissom Military Academy aboard the _Alamo_.

Making animated conversation with her was Agent Ravos, one of two members of Clan Urdnot among the specialists. Beside them was Agent Jaeger, absent-mindedly twirling an unused heat clip.

On the other side of the map-table were members of Red Team: Agent Harlequin, another Reaper War veteran who had lost her entire right arm in London (the rumor had it that she had lost it after choking a Banshee to death) and next to her, sitting back on his chair with his eyes closed, was Agent Diamante, the son of a Spectre and Red Team’s sniper. Beside Diamante sat Agent Black, the lone Quarian on the ship, currently embarking on his Pilgrimage outside Rannoch; and beside him was the other member of Clan Urdnot, currently comparing scars with Agent Ravage. Commander Miranda Lawson’s seat was elevated higher, and at her right sat her second-in-command, Samantha Traynor, the highly-decorated Comms Specialist aboard the Normandy SR-2 that served as the model for every Crimson Guard starship.

The commander looked over. “Agents Domino, Lancelot, you’re late. Specialist Williams?”

“I was about to take a shit, commander.”

“Noted. Well, now that we’re all here, let’s take a look at what our dear friends at the Shadow Broker have come up with,” she pressed a few buttons and a holographic projection of a small planet he recognized pop up. If this was the Pranas system, then that had to be...

“Clanerth,” said Lawson, catching Domino’s eye. “Our intel shows that there’s a significant Black Tide presence here. Also, something we need. Here is what we’re going to do, Traynor, if you please?”

“Right away, commander,” said Traynor, her voice carrying a refined English accent that rang in harmony with the commander’s. She hit a few keys and then a red dot flashed near the northern quadrant of the planet. The holo-image cleared and a satellite view of two different compounds within 150 meters of each other.

“We are going to take three teams, and here’s what’s going to happen. Dropship Al-One's going in first, taking both snipers. Once you land, those two will hoof it to this point and set up shop. Once there, activate the homing beacons. Once that happens, Red Team's going to go in hot with Dropship Al-Two.  Once the guns start blazing, they will draw the attention from the people at Compound Alpha. Once Blue Team meets resistance, Red Team's going to go in, secure the target on Compound Alpha, and proceed to evac point Charlie behind the snipers. Red Team: if it has a gun, shoot it."

She stopped to look around.

“Red Team, you’re going to be under a tight window. You have 15 minutes before any strategic retreat proves impossible and the Black Tide realizes what is going on, then you have 35 minutes before they’re up our ass with boots on the ground. So If you want your teammates to stay alive, you have 10 minutes to go in and get out,” she stopped to show a diagram of an office building. “Get into the terminal, and extract the server disk. That is why I will be assigning data officer Artois to your squad. Keep her from getting killed. Now, the information we’ve received from the Broker is that this particular serverdisk isn’t the most user-friendly. It _will_ set off the alarm.”

“Smash and grab,” Lancelot said. “My favorite!”

“Commander,” Williams interjected. “If the alarm goes off, they’ll know it’s a diversion and they will disengage from Red Team.”

“Precisely. That’s where you and Jaeger come in, Specialist. As the troops disengage, I want you to showcase your marksman abilities. Shoot every trooper you can that makes a run for Compound Alpha. They don’t need to be killed. Just incapacitated. 100 credits for each hit, and 1,500 credits for the Unit that gets the most. Red Team, once Artois is done, you will regroup with Blue Team at the extraction point. Strategic retreat to where the snipers are, then we hop on up, burn a few clone images and make it back to the relay before the first Black Tide recon troops arrive.”

“Will we make it in time?” asked Ravage.

A voice chimed in from overhead, it was the pilot, Thibodeaux.

“You leave that up to me, pardner. Going to be close, but I’ll make it, but you know how I love ti--”

“Thibs!”

“Sorry, Commander.”

“If all that is understood, you are dismissed. The plans have been uploaded to your omnitools. Please review them and get some rest. We make planetfall in 0800. Any questions?”

“Commander?

Agent Domino felt some hesitation but knew he had better ask.

“Yes, Agent Domino?”

“I know this planet. I know Compound Beta. It’s a prison. There are a lot of people there that have been taken by Black Tide raiders.”

 

“Your point, Agent?”

“We’re leaving them there?”

“We have our orders, and our orders are to retrieve. We are invoking Billy Protocol.”

“Yes, ma’am,” he hoped he had sounded confident.

“Agent Domino, please recite Billy Protocol.”

“No prison breaks, ma’am.”

“Thank you.”

Lawson paused, her mask dropping temporarily into a grimace.

“It’s not ideal. I understand your reservations. But we can’t be playing hero. And I will not expose any of you to unnecessary risk accomplishing non-existent objectives. We have our orders. Any other questions?”

No one said anything.

“Very well. Our initial probes show a nitrogen-heavy atmosphere so if your rebreathers aren’t charged you don’t get to go. And by you don’t get to go I mean I’ll throw you off the ship myself. Planetfall in 8 hours; get some grub, get some rest.  I also don’t need to remind you that We’re going dark, so the extranet will be down. Dismissed.”

 

The two teams dispersed throughout the ship to pass to kill time before the mission. Domino headed towards the mess hall and ran into Agent Ravage near the specialist fridges.

“Mr. Prison Break, huh?” he asked, picking a ration with the logo of a cartoonish fish on the cover.

“Lay off. It was only a question,” Domino replied.

“I’ll tell you something, though. Five years ago, I was contracted out to do just that. Me and some guys had to go in and extract one particular prisoner off some ass-backward colony in Paeto. Relatively simple. Here. Get some food.” Domino grabbed the ration that was thrown at him. This one’s cartoon had something that resembled a chameleon with wings. As Domino tore open the package, Ravage continued: “Nothing major. The guards were low-rate thugs, too, so we made quick work on a good chunk of them by the time we found our target. We hack into the cells and free him and make our escape before the Salarians in the area.”

“I don’t get it,” Domino said, gulping down two squeezes of the mushy protein. “Was there a moral of the story? Did someone break out the wrong prisoners? Did you lose people?”

“Moral? Shit no. I did my job, we all got paid. I was just reminiscing. How’s your ration?”

“Bland. What even is this animal?”

“Oh. Fargle-wings. They taste better live, but I can’t even find one on the black market that doesn’t require me paying an arm for it.”

“That expensive?”

“Yep. In any case: Stick to the mission. We’re not the bad guys for thinking of our own self-preservation.”

“I reckon that’s fair,” Domino replied, and looked down to stare at the curious Fargle-wing protein paste.

 

Later that night, Domino found himself unable to sleep. During the normal voyages, sleep phero-stims would kick in, enabling everyone to get a good “night’s” sleep. Prior to missions, there was no need to risk having the specalists groggy, so sleep had to come by the natural way.

It sometimes wasn’t successful.

He hit the panel above his bunk and saw the time. T-5 hours. Damn it. Another push of a button and the clear panel slid out. One more tap and his omnitool materialized in right forearm, automatically on the dim flashlight setting. There was no sound but a very gentle hum of the powerful engines below him. He enjoyed the quote-unquote midnight walks with the hustle and bustle of activity on a ship reduced to a skeleton crew and several dozen servos. The night shift. He stepped into the lift and took it one floor down to the starboard hangar. He stepped into the metal outcropping overlooking the hangar. The starboard dropship, nicknamed Roberta, was being tended to by a platoon of servo-bots. Below, holding a datapad with instructions, he could see the Chief Armory offcer, Weber Leftich, run through final pre-mission checks. Leftwich caught his eye and nodded a greeting before turning back to his datapad.

Domino heard footsteps behind him.

“Couldn’t sleep?”

He turned to see that the asari, Agent Zero, had joined him. He answered with a shrug.

“I slept some. Then I couldn’t sleep. Then I came here. It’s calm. How about you?”

“The same.”

“Nervous?”

“A little bit, yes.”

“Your classmates are here, too. You’re not going to be alone. How are they handling it?”

“One of them emptied his stomach out and is now blissfully aslepe, the other is reviewing the schematics of the compounds for the seventeenth time. I decided to go on a walk.”

“It’s quieter that way.”

“Yeah, plus, I started thinking about your prison break idea.”

“You’re second to make a comment so far. Well, fifth if you count the Urdnots relishing the chaos and destruction that could have followed a full-blown prison break.”

The asari laughed.

“That would be quite the sight...but, you know. Play the long game.”

“The asari way, huh?”

“I would like to think it was my mothers’ way.”

“She sounds like a smart...uh...woma--I don’t...you know, the…”

Zero laughed again.

“Right, sorry, my mothers, plural, both lived by that. And hey, you’re older, shouldn’t you be the one telling me to be cautious?”

“Zero, how old do you think I am?!”

“Old enough to remember being a toddler in the Reaper War?”

“I forgot I mentioned that,” he said. Agent Zero smiled.

“I pay attention. Get some rest, agent.”

“Aye, aye.”

 


	2. Protocol

_Captain’s Log, 24 July 2201_

_The mission in four hours, and I have three rookies, including Agent Zero, on the two teams. I am confident and yet at the same time, I don’t know what to expect._

_What would her mother say?_

 

_Actually, I have a perfect idea what she would have told me: “No special treatment.”_

_Nostalgia keeps me sane. Thinking about Zero always made me think about Liara and still trying to puzzle out why she had, beyond the reasons she told me, sent her daughter along. Maybe it was because of Liara’s own relationship with her mother? Something to prove in giving her daughter enough independence to avoid her rebelling?_

_Whatever the case is, it’s not something I’d ever bring up to her face because, hello, I didn’t exactly have a good relationship with my piece-of-shit creator that I called “dad” for too long._

_Liara was a good mother. Liara **is** a good mother. From what I pieced together in the official biography and in unofficial discussions with the survivors of the Lazarus Cell and the Normandy, Zero had been born Elize T’soni Shepard in Archaeon, where the Normandy had crash-landed following the withdrawal of the reapers. Elize was one of a couple of children, but she was the one that Samantha took on the role of co-parent for. _

_I believe in my heart it is because she, like Liara, loved the commander. And whether it was because of that mutual love, or that mutual emptiness, something worked, and Zero had a stable home environment, the kind Liara and myself missed out on. I know someday these memoirs will be published and people will ask me if I loved the Commander, too. I did, but in the way someone could love a teacher. And I wasn’t about to break Cerberus or Alliance shipboard regulations for that._

_I was tempted, but didn’t act on anything until after I had left the Normandy._

_And it wasn’t with the Commander, but with Jack._

_It stared as a one-night-only-never-going-to-talk-about-this-again-moment in Anderson’s villa during the last time we were all together, but it eventually blossomed into something different, something...I don’t know. Two orphans just trying to make their way in life together. We even had cutesy nicknames for each other. I was her CB and she was my PB. Cerberus Bitch and Psychotic Biotic...so maybe not entiiiiiirely cutesy._

_But, it worked. At least for a little bit._

_I don’t think either of us was cut out for a quiet, settled life. A life that didn’t involve making routine raids like this into hostile territory._

_I thought about Agent Domino’s mention that one of the compounds was a temporary prison for Black Tide captives. I understood his concern but I wasn’t going to trigger the Billy Protocol when the Now here I am, commander of my own ship, putting my neck out there._

_I thought about Agent Domino’s recommendation. And I remembered Jack in Purgatory and why we had Billy Protocol in the first place._

_When we sprung Jack out of Purgatory, a man named Billy sent us a message thanking Shepard for freeing him in the chaos and promising us that he’d carve Shepard’s name on his next victim. That was lost during the war effort for the most part. But Liara and I got word of several unsolved murders popping up throughout Citadel space. We never told Shepard. By the time I found “Billy” he had killed forty people. Carved a big letter S with broken glass on each body. With enough on his mind, Liara fed me the information that I needed to stay ahead of the few Alliance investigators not caught up in the Reaper Conflict. by only a few hours when I shackled him in a house of horrors he had built._

_‘_ _I’ll just get free again,’ he told me when I started escorting him out towards my ship. He didn’t think those would be his last words before I cut his throat. Thus, the Crimson Guard established the Billy Protocol. No more prison breaks._

“Lock, load…” began Agent Redwing, the Turian commander of Red Team.

“Execute!” echoed the rest of the team as they filed into the starboard dropship (note fix so dropship goes in hot for other team). They were joined by two extra bodies: Agent Diamante and Artois. The seatbelts slid out automatically to magnetically strap themselves to the plastek screen that slid down. Domino turned over to Artois.

“You excited?”

She held up a datapad with lines of code filtering through quickly. 

“Very.”

Before Domino could respond with a snarky comment, he felt the dropship’s cloak kick in and the engines power up.

A voice came over the dropship intercom.

“Al-One dropping now, cloak is engaged.”

His suit made a weird click-chirp and an indicator on the visual display notified him and the rest of the squad that they were all cloaked now. Their helmet light reduced to photo-spectrum display, and the visual indicators on their suit were greyed out. And then, the rumbling. Even with post-Reaper War technology, planetfall was still unpleasant. Savage rumbling, stomach discomfort, the feeling of being weightless and then tremendously weighted down and then...silence. The dropship got through the atmosphere and began sailing smoothly into the planet’s surface, guided by vibro-thrusters. Domino moved his thumb up and left and triggered the outside camera feed in his visor. He saw the target compound in the distance, waving due to the biotic cloak over the ship and looming larger and larger. The audio feed inside the team’s helmets beeped once and Redwing’s voice filtered in. “Landing in 30, cloaks up, rebreathers on. Ravos and Zero on me, Domino and Lancelot flank right with Artois. Jaeger and Diamante, head on up to extraction point. Engage!” 

As one, the team hit a button on their panel and filtered air began circulating through their visor. A soft thunk and within a second, the plastek screens had lifted and the seatbelts disengaged while the back door opened. The unit quickly filed out, their visors detailing the rocky terrain in green and black hues. In the distance, 150 yards away, lay the prison compound. 

“Move out,” said Redwing through their helmets. The two snipers shouldered their rifles and broke off in the direction of their vantage point, while the two Red Team squads made their way silently to the edge of the prison compound.

After twenty minutes of walking, Redwing called for full stop and ordered the squad to lay down as they approached the range of the spotlights. The turian slid out a datapad from his suit and placed it on the ground next to Domino.

“They’re likely going to exit through these two points. Our access point will be opposite this exit point. I will take point with Ravos and Zero and go in through the officer quarters indicated here,” he said, the statement punctuating with a tiny click that let Domino know the map had been updated. “You two escort Artois into the server room. Opposition must be neutralized decisively.. Red Team, all set?”

“Set,” responded a chorus of voices. Redwing thumbed a display in his armored forearm. Another voice chimed in to the frequency.  

“Alamo, this is Jaeger, Diamante and I are set up.

Homing beacons activated. Do you copy?”

“We copy, Jaeger. Alamo has a lock on the position. Red Team, are you ready?”

“As ready as we can be, commander.”

“Good shooting, squad.”

There was a thunderous sound overhead as the Alamo broke into the atmosphere and set on a course in the distance. Domino caught a bit of the starboard hangar door opening and tracked Al-Two as it exited. Harlequin’s voice kicked in.

“All teams, this is Blue Team, going in hot.”

The compounds exploded in sound and light as alarms began blaring and panicked soldiers started running everywhere. The Alamo dipped its bow as it made another run and let loose a blast from the Thanix cannon that obliterated an entire guard tower structure. As she recloaked, Domino heard in the distance the rapid stutter of small arms fire. Blue Team had engaged, and just as they did, a stream of soldiers and erupted from the prison compound in the direction of Red Team.

“Blue Team, we have multiple hostiles heading your direction. Red Team, you are clear to engage. Set timers.”

“Let’s go,” Lancelot said, jumping up and making a break for the compound with Domino and Artois at his heels. They entered through one of the back rooms, bat-rifles at the ready. “Clear,” Lancelot moved in, sweeping the room as Domino and Artois came in behind. Domino thumbed the display on his visor with his thumb. One hallway up, one right, one left, atrium, and server room. Artois walked over to a panel and placed a device. 

“The hell is that?”

“Pulse radar.” Artois said, and pressed a button.    
The display on his visor indicated a few new yellow dots in the map that weren’t there before. Three of them were in the atrium before the server room. 

“Good call,” Lancelot said, noticing the display on his own visor. “Shall we?”

Domino headed through the door and walked as fast as he could with the timer tucked in a corner of his display. He thumbed the safety off his trusty weapon: the HKE Cyclone Battle Rifle, the first baby produced by the Hahne-Kedar and Elanus merger for the benefit of the Crimson Guard. Lancelot tapped him on his back and between the two made sure that the hallways were clear as they neared the atrium. 

“Grenades?” Domino asked. As Lancelot was about to reply, Artois cleared his throat.

“Yes?”

“I don’t want to risk damage to the equipment I will be working with.”

Domino sighed and then peeked around the corner to the doorway leading to the atrium.

“Last hallway clear.”

The three Crimson Guards got up to the door and peeked through. Three individuals were on the other side of the door, standing and looking jittery around a centralized console while the alarm blared over and over again. Behind them, as his visor indicated, was the door to the server room.

“Go.”

Lancelot kicked the door in and ran inside, with Domino and Artois right behind him.

“Alright you pig-sweating assholes,” Lancelot yelled through his visor. “We can do this the easy way or the--” the man closest to the door reached his hand into the holster at his side and there was a loud boom from behind Domino, and the man fell against the back of the console, a black and red cavity where his chest used to be. Artois stepped up, her arm and gun stretched out to point to the two men staring in shock.

“You two, on your hands and knees. Domino, Lancelot, I’m going to the server room. Watch them.”

“Er...sure, no problem.”

Lancelot turned to Domino and motioned  him over to the console, where the two men were cowering on their knees, their hands on their heads. Without ceremony, Lancelot smashed the butt of his rifle into the back of their heads and then went to work tying shackling them with bolt-wires. Artois’ voice clicked in over their audio feed.

“Artois here, I’m in the server room, commencing download.”

“Roger that, Artois,” replied Redwing from the other band. “Officers quarters are clear. Minor resistance. A few are headed your way.”

“We got ‘em,” Domino said, slapping his rifle for good luck. 

Lancelot moved over to one edge of the console, where he had a direct line of fire on their avenue of retreat. Domino took the other doorway. Within a few seconds, a few guards filtered in, but before they could clear the doorway, they were met with a stream of gunfire. Two fell, a third was shielded by his companion’s body and immediately retreated back into the hallway. 

“Lancelot?”

“Yes?”

“Hand me one of your grenades.”

A glimpse peeked from the hallway and Domino ducked back behind the console as the unseen gunman sprayed blindly around the corner. Lancelot slid one of the compact boxes to Domino, who primed it.

“Throwing grenade, entry point B.”

There was a clunk-FOOM as the grenade made contact with obscured hallway. The blind gunfire stopped.

“Red Team, our sections are clear, moving into the atrium, hold fire.”

“Copy.”

“So an asari, a turian, and a korgan walk into an atrium and--”

“Where’s Artois?”

The air was immediately filled with the sound of a screeching alarm. Artois’ voice kicked in over the speakers.

“This is Diamante, we’re seeing movement heading your direction. Opening fire.”

Just as Domino took another breath of re-purposed air, Artois’ voice chimed in, yelling over the din of the alarm.

“We have a situation. Come to the server room.”

“That’s never good.”

The team filed into the server room, where Artois was surrounded by a battery of broken datapads and several camera feeds. Domino noted the packed cells, the prisoners pressing themselves against the bars and yelling soundlessly for help. He turned away to focus on the outside screen.

He heard the sound and his mind immediately registered what it was on the screen.An Atlas Mech heading in the direction of the prison compound. Underneath it, he saw troopers disengaging from what he presumed to be Blue Team and making a run. Several of them fell quickly, hit by unseen sniper fire. 

“Commander, are you seeing this?” Redwing buzzed.

“Yes, I am. Disengage. Proceed to extraction point.”

“Roger.”

“Alright team,” the turian said, switching back to the team audio feed. “Organized retreat. Whatever happens, Artois survives. Zero, you’re with her.”

“But--”

“But unless anyone else is going to develop the ability to use barriers in the next five minutes, I don’t want to hear it. Any objections?”

“No,” the squad said as one.

“Let’s go.”

**Author's Note:**

> It's been a decade and change since I last wrote Fanfiction. I've missed it, and I've also remembered that this is different than any sort of other writing I've done.   
> I'll be doing my best to update this weekly. Leave a comment or shoot me a message if you have any feedback!


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